


Eyes on Fire

by Bouncey



Series: To Carry Your Marks [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blowjobs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Geralt is Very Softly Dommed, Just Let My Emotionally Constipated Witcher Spoon His Boyfriend, Lots of kissing, M/M, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scars, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, What's a Top? What's a Bottom?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: Yet here was Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, holding the gaze of a determined, compassionate, idiotic bard. Geralt pulled Jaskier against his chest and rested his forehead gently against his Beloved’s. “I can’t ask this thing of you.”“I’m giving it freely, Flower.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: To Carry Your Marks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807651
Comments: 20
Kudos: 884





	Eyes on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Did I name all these stories after songs on the Twilight Saga soundtracks? Yes. Am I ashamed? No. Those soundtracks FUCKED.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy! I look forward to posting part three; we're going to Kaer Morhen!

Geralt was having an extremely hard time keeping his hands away from Jaskier’s body. To distract his one-track mind, the Witcher stepped out of the bath and pulled his smallclothes up his still-damp legs. He hadn’t been prepared for this kind of thing to happen; nobody else had stayed with one of his kind before. They were married off to another once their parents realized what was happening or they believed the lies that Witchers felt no love. Those lessons of Vesemir’s had been developed after years of experience. Years of brokenhearted men whose soulmates died disgusted or unhappy. They had never been able to experience true love. 

Yet here was Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, holding the gaze of a determined, compassionate,  _ idiotic  _ bard. Geralt pulled Jaskier against his chest and rested his forehead gently against his Beloved’s. “I can’t ask this thing of you.”

“I’m giving it freely, Flower.”

“When you see my eyes after a hunt you’ll change your mind. Or when I take you back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and you meet my brothers.”

“You have brothers!?” Jaskier’s raised pitch made Geralt flinch slightly. The bard was practically vibrating, giddy with excitement. 

“They’re just like me. Well, Eskel is more book-smart and Lambert is wittier, but they’re gruff in the same ways. We’re all...Witchers.”

“Yes, and? Did you miss the whole thing where I got beaten up and still defended your honor? I don’t care what job you perform, love. I only care that you come home to me safely afterwards.”

“ _ You  _ won’t be safe. If we travel together.”

“Have you met me? I’m one of the most annoying creatures this side of the Continent. I’m never safe.”

“Hmmm.” 

“Stop pushing me away,” Jaskier demanded, gripping tightly to Geralt’s biceps. “I won’t have anyone else but you. No matter what kind of excuses you come up with.”

Something that had been strung very tightly within Geralt finally snapped. The exhausted Witcher melted into his Beloved’s touch. He’d been alone for seventy years and now, here in this shithole in Posada, he was  _ complete _ . He couldn’t stop himself from covering his Beloved in kisses. He sprinkled them across Jaskier’s face and down his neck to the tops of his shoulders. What a slender neck. What deceptively strong shoulders. His little baby bard wasn’t actually that little, all things considered. He was nearly as tall as Geralt even if he was more slender. The way Geralt's scars looked when mapped across Jaskier's skin in golden blooms was _incredible._

They really were built to complement each other.

“Flower,” the bard smiled softly, pulling Geralt’s face back down to his. “Kiss me.”

“Hmmm.” 

The white-haired Witcher scooped his Beloved up into his arms and carried him over to the small bed, keeping their lips locked together for most of the journey. Jaskier only pulled away to cry, “Oh yes! Set me down here!” 

Geralt deposited his precious cargo onto the lumpy straw mattress of the inn's rickety bed. Jaskier immediately reached up to make grabby hands at his Witcher. A shiver ripped its way down the bard’s spine when Geralt rumbled, “You’re too adorable for your own good, bard.”

“I’m sure it’ll get me into trouble someday,” he pulled Geralt down on top of him and nuzzled into his stubble-covered neck. “But luckily my Beloved will totally be able to kick their ass. Just as I predicted.”

“While that stands to be true, please don’t go starting any unnecessary fights.”

“Not even if I’m defending your honor?” Jaskier asked, licking across Geralt's clavicle. 

The Witcher groaned lowly before gathering his wits enough to answer. 

“I’ll teach you to use a dagger, and then you’ll be able to defend me yourself.”

“That’s so hot.”

“Defending me?”

“Yeah. And having a dagger.”

Geralt pressed his lips against Jaskier’s to shut him up. The bard sank even further into the bedding and spread his legs to make room for Geralt, who knelt nervously between them. He leaned his broad chest down to trap Jaskier against the sheets and nuzzled his nose against the bard’s neck in return.  _ Warm rain and flowers and chamomile. My bard smells like springtime. _ The brunette squirmed slightly at the tickling sensation against his neck and felt his skin drag delightfully against the Witcher’s as a result. He licked his lips, “I want to be on top for a minute.”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

“Like this,” Jaskier looped his left leg around Geralt’s waist and thrust that hip forward, flipping the taller man onto his back. He kept his long, pale leg draped across the Witcher's hips in a (decidedly easy to overcome) restraint and walked his fingers up the center of Geralt’s bath-damp chest. “I want to see where all my flowers come from.”

“We could be in here for days if you insist on seeing every single one.”

“Oh well,” Jaskier shrugged. The brunette flashed his Beloved a challenging gaze, “Now don’t move, Flower.”

He started his exploration of Geralt’s body by seeking out his favorite mark of all. It was a delicate arrangement atop his hip-bone. Depicted against his pale skin by a series of tiny flowers, the wound had seemed smaller; but Geralt was huge and the scar on  _ his  _ hip was a raised bump nearly three inches long. “Where did you get this one?”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Of all the scars on my body, you found the  _ one  _ that doesn’t come with a monster story.”

“Where did it come from then?” 

Geralt tried to answer the question, he really did, but Jaskier’s mouth was sucking gently at the skin around his scar and the blood that had previously been powering his brain was rapidly flowing southward. “Ah-An angry peasant whose child I was too late to save. He came at me with a knife. I-I let it happen because I -ah,  _ Jask _ \- thought it was only fair.”

“No more punishing yourself for things you can’t control.”

“Jaskier I ca-”

“No, Geralt. I won’t have it. If you want to be tortured so badly just go to fucking Nilfgard. I’ve heard rumors that their methods are brutal.”

“Hmmm.”

“You have to stay alive and keep me safe, now. No more being a self-sacrificing idiot.”

“I’ll always keep you safe, Beloved. Always.”

Jaskier nipped lightly at the skin of Geralt’s hip and listened to his Witcher’s breath catching. He kissed a torturously slow path from that scar to another mark on the Witcher’s pectoral. Once there, he fastened his mouth against the slightly salty skin and sucked a purple mark above the star-shaped mass of scar tissue. He paused his ministrations for a moment to ask, “This one?”

“V-vampire. Got me with ah-uh, a claw.”

“Oooh, a monster that drinks from its victims. Very sexy.”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, my delicate Flower?”

Geralt had been called many things in his life. Most of them insults, some of them nicknames, none of them anywhere close to  _ delicate.  _ “You’re going to kill me if you keep touching me like this without  _ doing  _ anything about it.”

“We’ll get there. Remember Flower, I said not to move.”

Geralt’s hands fisted in the bed sheets as Jaskier flicked that silver tongue rather forcefully over one of his nipples. The bard laid his head on the Witcher’s broad (and  _ deliciously  _ well defined) chest, his finger tracing down another white line on Geralt’s upper arm. “How about this one?”

“Basilisk.”

“I will find the Kikimore scar eventually.”

“Ribcage.”

“Aha!”

Geralt realized his mistake too late as Jaskier bit triumphantly down on the skin above his Kikimore scar. His dick jumped in his smallclothes and his hands shot up to grasp at Jaskier with wild abandon, no longer able to restrain himself. “I need to touch you.”

“ _ Yes, _ ” the bard grinned. The Witcher’s pulled Jaskier against him, burying his nose in the younger man’s hair and breathing deeply. When his hands reached for the bard’s shoulders and gripped them posessively, the smaller man seemed to cling even tighter against him. Geralt’s soul spiraled to a new plane of happiness and contentment as his touch-starved body was finally explored by caring hands and lips. If Jaskier suddenly pulled a knife from the pillowcase and murdered him, Geralt would still die smiling.

But Jaskier wasn’t pulling a knife. 

No, his Beloved was actually pulling his hard cock free from his smalls and  _ sliding dangerously low on Geralt’s body with his mouth open. That playful glint in his eyes couldn't be goo- oh gods.  _ The moan Jaskier wrung from his Flower’s lips was deep and desperate as he licked a delicate, thin stripe along the underside of Geralt’s cock with his tongue. He felt the Witcher’s body arch upwards off the bed. The bard slid his hands slowly up his lover’s thighs and over his hips, which he gently pushed back down against the mattress. 

“Jas _ kier, _ ” the Witcher gasped. He’d leaned up on one arm, his pupils blown unnervingly wide with lust. 

“You poor thing, I’m sorry. You must be absolutely livid.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” Geralt ground out.

“No,” the bard smirked, licking another determined path up the Witcher’s impressive dick. “I’m really not. I lived my whole life worried for you. Now I’m merely taking what I’m owed. Emotional reparations, if you will.”

“Please, bard.”

“Please, what?”

“ _ Touch me, Jaskier. I’ve been waiting so long for you to touch me!”  _

The bard was more than happy to relent, sinking his mouth over the head of Geralt’s cock and hollowing out his cheeks. The Witcher released another low groan and fisted his hand in Jaskier’s soft brown hair. The bard swallowed his way down, inch by inch, until humming three notes of his latest composition was enough to have his Flower writhing and twitching beneath him.

_ All this power over such a strong man.  _ It was a heady feeling and it only fueled Jaskier’s determination to _perform_ and _impress_ and _worship Geralt's body until the end of time_. He let his jaw go slack and breathed through his nose, fucking his own throat with Geralt’s cock. He tamped down his gag reflex and hummed again. Geralt bit down on the back of his arm to stifle the strangled cry that toppled from his lips. Jaskier pulled back slightly and ran his calloused fingers gently across the scar on the Witcher’s hip again. His white-haired prisoner shuddered. "J-ah! _Oh gods! Oh fuck!_ Jaskier, please."

The giddy bard deepthroated his Beloved once again, fucking his Witcher’s cock back into his throat until there was nothing Geralt could do but let it happen. He was too wound up to fight the bard off, anyway. 

Jaskier glanced up through his damp eyelashes and saw the Witcher’s blown-out pupils fixated on him. The molten gold of his irises was a thin ring, revealing just how taken apart he really was. His dick slipped briefly from between the bard’s lips. “Your eyes are on practically on fire, Flower.”

As Jaskier slid his mouth back down one last time, undulating his throat muscles against the bottom of Geralt’s cock, he felt the Witcher come with a low, drawn-out, “ _ Beloved.” _

He swallowed all of his lover's spend and wiped his mouth delicately on the corner of Geralt’s smallclothes with a goofy smile. The Witcher was breathing heavily beneath him, a light sheen of sweat glinting off his skin in the firelight. Geralt pulled his Beloved against his chest and squeezed gently. “Now it’s my turn.”

Jaskier was curious. “What do you mean, Flower?”

“Hush, Jas. Let me take care of you like I promised.”

The Witcher manhandled his Beloved until the baby bard was staring up at him from the mattress with wide, excited blue eyes. He kissed his way across the bouquets of flowers imprinted on Jaskier’s skin, thanking each and every one of them for bringing the two men together. “I’m taking you with me to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

“Sounds lovely. Can’t wait to meet the family.”

“I’ll do my best to keep my brothers away from you,” Geralt whispered against the skin of Jaskier’s inner thigh. He pressed a wet kiss against the same spot and felt the slim man’s muscles jumping beneath the skin. He could feel the electricity building beneath all those flower tattoos. “You belong to  _ me  _ and I’ve never been too good at sharing..”

“Yes, darling, I-”

But Geralt had lowered his warm, wet mouth down over Jaskier’s aching cock and effectively shut off the bard’s brain. “Fucking hells, Flower. You feel so good.”

The Witcher ran his tongue against the bottom edge of his Beloved’s cockhead and reveled in bard’s wrecked noises. He did it again. And again. Circling his skilled tongue around until Jaskier was nothing but a writhing pile of limbs beneath him, panting out “Flower” and “Please, love” whenever he could catch a breath. Geralt didn’t let up. He lavished attention on the bard’s cock until spit dripped from his chin onto the bedding. 

Geralt’s palm spread over the scar next to Jaskier’s navel, the only mark bestowed by the bard large enough to show plainly on Geralt’s massive body. “Go- _ uhn _ , got m- _ uh, love-  _ got mugged.”

A low growl of protectiveness and possessiveness rumbled out of the Witcher. The vibrations against his sensitive cock alone would have made Jaskier choke on his tongue, but the fact that Geralt’s threatening growl was because  _ he,  _ a mere  _ bard,  _ a man of no real consequence in the wide scope of things, had been injured was  _ heavenly.  _ He’d never felt so safe. Or so turned on. 

The Witcher’s hand had moved up to play with Jaskier’s nipple, rolling the pink bud between his thumb and forefinger to watch it grow hard and sensitive. The bard worried at his lip with his teeth, trying to bite back the enthusiastic sounds spilling rapidly out of him. He didn't want the whole inn to hear them but the sensations were torturous. It felt as if Jaskier was the lute and Geralt was the bard, playing him wonderfully and effortlessly well. He thought he must be going mad; there was the White Wolf, kneeling between his legs and  _ smirking  _ up at him with a mouthful of cock.  _ Jaskier’s  _ cock. 

Geralt scraped his teeth very gently along the shaft and flicked Jaskier’s nipple one last time. Then, with a look of utter joy and determination, the Witcher took all of his Beloved’s cock into the warmth of his throat at once and  _ hummed.  _ Before he could shout a warning, Jaskier was jerking his hips wildly as he came, stretched out before Geralt like a pagan sacrifice. This person was _his_ and he in turn was _Jaskier's._ For the first time in seventy years, Geralt felt utterly at peace with his current situation.

* * *

After cleaning themselves up with a little of the leftover bathwater, Geralt and Jaskier settled onto their bedrolls before the fire. “Too bad we ruined the sheets,” the bard sighed. The planes of Geralt’s chest were hard against the curve of his spine and the Witcher’s arm was wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him in place. 

“I cannot wait to take you home and ravish you in front of _my_ fireplace.”

“Sounds delightful, Flower.”

“Hmmm. You'll be safe there." Geralt covered the scar on Jaskier's abdomen with his whole hand. "You will never be harmed again.”

“And you? What about your well-being?”

“I hope you like it when people give you flowers.”

Jaskier’s smile was sated and happy as his eyes closed for sleep. “I have always loved the marks you bestowed upon me. I have always loved  _ you. _ I'm just extra lucky that my Beloved is a handsome, burly Witcher with snowy hair and golden eyes on fire.”

“Never heard it said like that before.”

“Well get used to being complimented,” the bard sniffed, slotting one of Geralt’s leg between his own for warmth. “Because there are about to be  _ many  _ ballads circulating the Continent, telling of the White Wolf's prowess in the bedroom.”

“Beloved, please.”

“I can already hear the melody. There’s no use arguing.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Alright, Flower. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, my Beloved.”

It was the best night of sleep either of them had gotten in eighteen years. The two men breathed evenly, wrapped against each other. A completed set.


End file.
